


Paint It Black

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:43:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They are equals now, Ron and Snape.  The days of student and professor are gone, left behind in the crumbling corridors of a half-destroyed castle, never to be revisited again.  These days they are both men, both members of the Order of the Phoenix, both fighting against Voldemort and his followers, both sworn to protect Harry at all costs.  They are both sworn to protect Harry at all costs, sworn by oath and magic bond and duty, yet Ron thinks that only one of them is really doing his job.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint It Black

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a Rolling Stones song of the same name.

They are equals now, Ron and Snape. The days of student and professor are gone, left behind in the crumbling corridors of a half-destroyed castle, never to be revisited again. These days they are both men, both members of the Order of the Phoenix, both fighting against Voldemort and his followers, both sworn to protect Harry at all costs. They are both sworn to protect Harry at all costs, sworn by oath and magic bond and duty, yet Ron thinks that only one of them is really doing his job. 

Snape refuses to help Harry, refuses to help him in a way that Ron _knows_ he needs to be helped but is too ruddy stubborn to ask for it. Harry hasn't asked either of them for help but Ron knows he needs it. Ron knows he needs it and he knows that he can't be the one to help Harry. Not this time. Snape is the one who could do it. Snape is the one who could do it and Ron rather hates him for it. 

Harry has been dreaming again. He's been tossing and turning in his camp bed, muttering about doors and black and veils, shaking and waking Ron up several times a night. The safe house is small, the sleeping and living area one room with three cots side-by-side. Noise carries and it's hard to ignore the things a person probably should pretend not to hear. 

Even if Ron hadn't heard Harry and all of his fretting during the night, he would have known something was wrong anyway during the daylight hours.

They can't leave the house, not until the special coin Hermione gave them - similar to the ones she'd made during their fifth year for Dumbledore's Army meetings - shows the coordinates, date, and time for when they are to meet up with Hermione's team. Until that information appears on their coin, they have no choice but to stay inside. The house, nestled deep inside a forest in northern Wales, is Unplottable and hidden away by a Fidelius Charm, but the surrounding area must be considered dangerous until the coin reveals the meeting place. 

When the sun is shining and everyone in the safe house is awake, it's extremely awkward. Snape is, well, _Snape_ and Ron can't be arsed to talk to him unless it's absolutely necessary. As they haven't been on the move in days and all they are doing is waiting for the signal, Ron tries to ignore him. Instead of paying Snape any mind, he focusses on Harry, who likely doesn't want to be focussed on, but Ron doesn't give a toss about that. It's close quarters and there's something wrong with his best mate, so he's going to focus on him whether Harry likes it or not.

All day long, Harry does nothing but sit on his camp bed. He presses his back against the wall at the head of it and draws his knees up to his chest. Every once in a while he'll stretch one leg out and then the other, lightly bouncing his knees up and down off the thin mattress. When he catches Ron looking at him, he stops and brings his knees up again, resting his forehead against the tops of his thighs. Twice every quarter hour he looks up and dares to catch Ron's eyes. It's always only for a moment or two, but more than long enough for Ron to see that Harry's eyes look dull, nearly deadened, and that he's got large circles under them.

Ron occupies his time with watching Harry, ignoring Snape, and poring over maps of different areas of Britain, studying the patterns of the Death Eaters' movements and trying to figure out where they might be headed next. Logically he knows the map-studying ought to be his priority. He's always been good with strategy, and the Order has sort of been depending on Ron to work out this pattern and discern just where it is that Voldemort is heading to once and for all. But he can't make that his priority. He simply cannot do it, not when Harry - who should be the Order's priority, _really_ \- has something going on in that head of his, has something going on that is clear as bloody day making him _off_.

When Harry goes to sleep, much earlier than Ron and Snape, Ron speaks to Snape in whispers. He doesn't talk to him during daylight hours, but when the sun goes down Ron nearly talks his ear off because it's necessary. It's for Harry.

Harry needs help. He can't sleep very well. He's having those dreams. He's saying things in his sleep that make Ron's skin crawl. Snape needs to help him.

Snape simply sneers when Ron suggests such things, telling Ron that he doesn't know what Ron's asking for and that Harry doesn't want his help. This really hacks Ron off because he thinks Snape is just being a prat, refusing to help because it's Harry and they both know he's hated Harry from the moment he laid eyes on him. Snape threatens to hex him more than a few times every night and every night Ron reminds him that any casting of charms or hexes is forbidden - magic via wandwork is easily traced and could draw the enemy to their area.

One night is particularly rough for Harry. He wakes up screaming and Ron and Snape both bolt up in their beds as well. Ron's feet barely touch the floor and then he's in Harry's narrow cot beside him, reaching out and touching his shoulder, asking him what's wrong. He jerks away from Ron's touch and screams for Ron not to touch him, going on and on about doors and black and veils and his face is so _white_ that it scares Ron. It scares him and it really fucking hurts him that Harry would pull away like that, to tell him that he shouldn't touch Harry. Ron tries to reason with him but Harry becomes hysterical, babbling and twitching and sounding so _hard_.

From behind him, Ron hears Snape tell Harry in that slow, condescending voice of his that he ought to control his faculties, that he should be able to calm down and approach this _thing_ in a rational manner, not like the blubbering mess he currently is. 

_That's **it**_.

Ron whirls around and stands toe-to-toe with Snape, looking him dead in the eye, daring Snape to defy him.

"Don't just stand there!" Ron yells, poking Snape in the chest with his index finger. "Fucking DO SOMETHING! Fucking HELP HIM! You know-- you KNOW what he needs!"

Snape's lip curls and he swats Ron's finger away. "Weasley," he says in that same damned tone. "I cannot help Potter. He is the only one who can help himself and, true to form, he is too stubborn to do so." 

"FUCK RIGHT OFF," Ron growls, grabbing a fistful of black wool, hauling Snape against him. "Don't give me that rot. You HELP HIM."

Jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward Harry, he adds, "Help him or I'll--"

"You'll _what_?" Snape arches a brow, his mouth setting in a thin line.

Ron can hear Harry gasping and mumbling behind him and it makes him feel like a fucking failure to know that he has to rely on someone else to help his best mate. "I don't know," Ron says quietly, "but, so help me God, you'll wish I'd never had to ask you more than once to help him."

Snape's lower lip twitches and his nostrils flare. "You forget your place, Weasley."

The blood in Ron's veins boil at this. He isn't a schoolboy anymore. He isn't under Snape's command. They are _equals_. "On the contrary, _Severus_ , you forget yours."

Snape stares at him for a long moment, then glances down at the hand Ron has clenched into his robes. "Release me, Weasley."

As soon as the wool slips out of Ron's fingers, Snape shrugs his shoulders violently, as if he's trying to shake Ron's touch right out of him, and moves to his camp bed. He takes out a small, black, worn satchel and goes to Harry's side. Harry pushes against Snape, protesting, insisting that he wants to be left alone. Before he's asked, Ron goes round to Harry's other side and settles his hands on his best mate's forearm, trying to keep him still. Ron isn't sure what all this Occlumency stuff entails, but he reckons that Harry oughtn't to be thrashing around or anything. It's scary, funny business when you're dealing with a person's brain, after all.

Snape begins speaking to Harry quietly and Ron screws his eyes shut and lets his mind just think about Harry and what sorts of things they'll do after the war is over once and for all. He doesn't want to hear what Snape has to say to Harry. He doesn't want to hear his words, because he knows that he won't ever have the skill to do this Occlumency thing with Harry anyway and the more he'd be aware of what was going on, the more he would hate himself for being inadequate.

Ron thinks of cheering at Chudley Cannons games and helping Hermione move into her dream flat with towering bookcases and lazy summer days out by the pond at the Burrow. He thinks of laughing and games of wizards chess and racing brooms and--

There is an odd smell suddenly, a pungent one. It doesn't make sense as to why this smell is there in the tiny room.

Ron's eyes open and he watches as Snape forces a small phial of red liquid into Harry's hand.

"Drink."

"What is that?" Ron asks, confused.

"Draft of Dreamless Sleep," Snape says shortly, taking the phial away when Harry's drained it.

"But I thought you were--"

"Drink," Snape says again to Harry, ignoring Ron. He switches phials with Harry, handing him one this time that is purple and thick-looking. Ron doesn't have to ask Snape what this one is-- he remembers brewing the Sleeping Draught in Potions years ago.

Harry barely lowers the second phial from his lips before his eyes close and he slumps onto his back, fast asleep, his head lolling to one side on his pillow. The hand holding the phial falls onto his stomach. Without offering Ron a word of explanation, Snape pulls the phial out of Harry's hand and places it in an inner pocket of his satchel, next to the first.

What nerve! What sodding nerve! Snape's busying himself putting the phials in his satchel and getting things in order, acting like he didn't just give Harry potions to knock him out for the night instead of working on Occlumency with him, like Ron wanted! It's all Ron could do not to just tear him from limb to ruddy limb right then and--

Actually, it isn't. It isn't because Ron is bloody well _hacked off_ and so he does what seems incredibly sensible to him at the time.

He lunges at Snape.

Ron lunges at Snape and the two of them fall off Harry's bed and onto the floor in a tangled heap of limbs. Snape's head hits the floor hard and Ron doesn't fight the smile of satisfaction curling up the corners of his mouth. 

"Get off me, Weasley," Snape hisses, bringing his hands up to push Ron away.

"No," Ron snarls, grabbing hold of Snape's hands and pinning them to the floor. "Not until you tell me why in the bleeding hell you just did what you did."

"I helped Potter," Snape sneers. "Just as you requested. Now get off of me, lest you--"

"Lest I _what_ ," Ron says heatedly. "Lest you do _nothing_ to me, because we can't use wand magic and you don't know how to do anybloodything else."

"Your lack of respect is appalling, but expected given the company you keep," Snape says, his dark eyes glittering.

"Shut. UP," Ron roars, digging his nails into Snape's palms, leaning up and then slamming back down on Snape's thighs, forcing Snape to stop moving beneath him. 

The insults and the screams Ron plans to bellow next at Snape die on his lips immediately after that. Those things die on his lips because the oddest fucking thing just happened and Ron doesn't-- he doesn't know how to handle it. He doesn't understand it. When he settled back down on Snape's thighs and dug his nails into Snape's skin, Snape exhaled, this little hitching sound coming from low in his chest and it did something ruddy awful to Ron's cock - it made it _twitch_. Something Snape did made Ron's cock twitch and _fucking hell_ there was something wrong with him. There was something wrong with him because Snape made his cock twitch and he wanted it to twitch again. Fuck. 

He had to forget about that. It was a fluke, it just happened, it didn't mean anything.

Gritting his teeth, Ron glares down at Snape. "Answer my question, _sir_."

Snape says nothing. Snape says nothing and this infuriates Ron.

Snape's not answering him and there is this sensation in his cock that really shouldn't be there and Harry's sleeping right next to them and oh God he can't help it--

Ron shifts himself over Snape, all the while demanding answers of him, moving until he is leaning over his former professor, their chests pressed together, hips aligned with hips. His face is mere inches away, so close that he can smell Snape's breath and feel it warm against his skin, can practically feel the intense hatred radiating off the man as he continues to refuse to properly answer Ron's question.

When Snape avoids Ron's question for the fifth time, Ron rocks his hips hard against Snape's and _fuck_ he can feel something hard poking low on his hip. Bloody hell, that's Snape's _cock_ jabbing into him!

His eyes round and Snape's narrow and there are these rumbling curses and grunts tumbling past Snape's lips but Ron ignores them, too caught up in the fact that Snape is beneath him and hard and _there_. Oh yes, right there. Pushing his toes against the floor, gaining leverage, Ron thrusts again and Snape writhes beneath him. Snape writhes beneath him and their cocks bump together and then there is a loud, breathy moan and Ron isn't sure if it came from him or Snape and suddenly that doesn't fucking matter because it's noise and cocks and _yes_.

"You arrogant little--" Snape pants, his head flopping from side to side, eyes burning into Ron's whenever they happen to meet.

"Not little," Ron gasps, rewarding Snape's insult with a grinding of the pelvis that is slow and hard and _deep_. "Understand?"

Snape's mouth opens, his lips moving wordlessly, and Ron can feel Snape get harder, which in turn makes _him_ harder and--

_Shite_. 

He has a fierce urge to move in and taste that open mouth. He really does. _Oh piss, there's something **wrong** with me--_

The seconds seem to stretch by as Ron dips his head in toward Snape's. Little by little he is closer and closer and--

Elevated slightly above them on his camp bed, Harry lets out a snore and rolls on his side, facing them.

Ron jumps up, banging his knee off the metal frame along the side of Harry's bed, and falls backwards onto his own mattress. Snape, in the meantime, clambers to his feet and straightens his robe, glaring down ominously at Ron. Although Ron expects him to threaten to hex him or even worse, Snape says nothing. Instead of going to his own bed, Snape goes to the tiny bathroom, slamming the door shut and leaving Ron alone with Harry.

Brilliant. Just sodding brilliant. He didn't get Snape to tell him why he didn't do Occlumency with Harry, Harry was laying there all drugged up on potions, and Ron has a hard-on that would bore through twenty-seven layers of metal, at least. It was going to be a long night.

*****

The following night, Ron tells Snape again to help Harry. And again Snape administers those two potions to Harry, sending him off to a dreamless sleep, to a sleep where he will not be plagued by doors and black and veils. Snape's avoidance of Occlumency angers Ron once more and, before he can stop himself, there is lunging and fumbling and grinding. Only this time, it's a bit different. Snape fights back. He doesn't fight back to throw Ron off nor does he fight back to stop Ron. He fights back, Ron thinks, to gain the upper hand. Snape rocks and pistons his hips and digs fingers into skin, leaving bruises and making Ron grunt and rasp. In return, Ron demands the answer to his question and rubs and bucks and ruts against him, laughing when Snape moans and groaning when Snape hisses in his ear, making threats that do nothing but cause the tension in Ron's groin to become unfuckingbearable. When his cock twitches and he can feel his seed spill and a wet heat spread across the front of his pants and trousers, Ron knows that this has gone too far. It's gone too far but it's about Harry and how can that be wrong?

The next night, the same thing happens. And the night after that. It keeps happening-- Harry has his fit, Snape gives him those damned potions, and Ron gets frustrated, growing angrier and angrier at Snape until finally he grinds himself against the older man, telling himself that he's punishing Snape and doing it for Harry. But Ron isn't sure he believes himself.

*****

On the fifth night, Harry wakes up trembling, soaked with sweat. Ron is by his side before the mumbling begins and does nothing more than flinch when Harry begs Ron to leave him be. He'd do anything for Harry, but he won't do that. He won't leave him. Not ever.

Harry's eyes close and it isn't long before he's talking of doors and black and veils and how he wants to paint it black. Ron doesn't know what 'it' is and he asks but Harry doesn't answer. Each night Ron asks him that question and each night Harry doesn't answer. He just presses his hands to his forehead and makes faces that tear Ron up on the inside. He'd give anything to make whatever it was doing this to Harry stop but he can't. He can't and Snape can, but the bastard won't _do_ it. He's a right selfish bastard and he--

Right on cue, Snape comes up to Harry's side, setting his satchel down.

"He doesn't need that," Ron says, glaring over at him. "You know what he needs."

Harry makes a strangled noise that sounds like a whimper to Ron, covering his ears with his hands. 

"See?! He can't take it, and those blasted sleeping potions aren't doing shite to really help him!"

Snape ignores him, looking through the contents of his satchel. This really hacks Ron off, and he leans over Harry and pushes the damned bag onto the floor, noting with more than a little satisfaction that the _thump_ of the bag hitting the floor is quickly followed by the distinct sound of breaking glass.

"Now look what you've done," Snape snapped, moving to the floor and inspecting the damage. "What are you going to do now to help Potter, Weasley? You selfish prat-- now I've no potions of any sort of help him or your idiotic hide, if you would happen to require them."

Beside him, Harry's frame is quivering from head to toe and Ron really has no idea what he's going to do to help Harry. He's tired of arguing with Snape and he's tired of feeling confused and like a fucking freak every night and he's angry with himself for depending on Snape of all people to make things better. 

Ron realises that he's got to at least _try_ to help Harry instead of just expecting Snape to do it because he thinks he can't. He has to try, and if he fails, he can always say that he _did_ try his damnedest.

Ignoring Snape, Ron reaches a hand out and lays it on Harry's forearm, squeezing slightly. 

"Hey," he says quietly, gently pulling at Harry's arm. When Harry drops his hand in his lap and Ron can now see part of his face, he forces a small smile. "It's me, mate."

"Ron," Harry moans, closing his eye. "Can't-- make it stop. I hate this. Just..." His voice trails off and he makes a choking sound. 

Ron swallows hard, nodding. "I know. I know." Pause. "Harry?"

Harry doesn't answer immediately. There's a lot of shaky breathing and trembling and Ron can hear shards of glass clinking together as Snape sorts them out on the floor below them. For a minute he's not sure Harry is going to answer him. He figures that Harry's going to lash out and push him away any moment, just like he's done each of the other nights. 

"Y-yeah?" Harry's voice is thin and it cracks.

The lump in Ron's throat is fucking huge and it hurts to swallow against it, but he has to do it. He has to say it. "Let me." That was it. Just "let me." That's what Ron wants. He wants Harry to allow him to _try_.

"Yeah." A nod.

Ron sighs with relief and nods back, a small smile wavering on his lips.

"Okay," he whispers, curling his fingers around Harry's other hand and dropping it to his lap as well. He lays his hands on Harry's cheeks, sliding his fingers up to his temples, rubbing lightly.

"Here?" 

"There," Harry whispers hoarsely.

"What is it?"

"It's _him_."

Ron doesn't have to ask who _him_ is. He knows.

Shuddering, he pulls his hands away, looking at Harry with concern. How in the bloody fuck he ever thought he could help when sodding Voldemort is mucking about in Harry's head, he didn't know.

"Don't, Ron."

"Don't what?"

"Don't," Harry says again, mumbling. "Don't leave."

Ron's eyebrows shoot up and his heart swells. Harry's asking him to stay. He isn't pushing him away. "'M not going anywhere, mate," he swears.

"I need..."

"What d'you need, Harry?" Ron grabs Harry's hands, turning them over in his own. They're a bit smaller than his and calloused and so very warm.

Harry says something but he's talking so low that Ron can't hear him, so he leans in further. "What was that?"

"I--" 

Then Harry does the damnedest thing-- he _snogs_ Ron. He snogs him, and it isn't chaste or weak or tentative in the least. It's wet and hot and desperate. _Frantic_ , even. Ron gasps into Harry's mouth and releases Harry's hands, placing his own palm-flat on Harry's shoulders and pushing him down into the cot. If this is what Harry needs, then by God Ron will give it to him. Ron will give it to him and he'll fucking love every minute of it, he'll--

"Well, isn't this touching."

_Bugger_. He'd nearly forgot about Snape there. Nearly. But now that he remembered, it was time to make Snape own up to his duty, the one he'd been fucking neglecting the entire time they'd been in this safe house.

"Shut your gob and get up here," Ron says, propping himself up on his elbows and glaring down at him. 

"And do what, exactly?" Snape asks disdainfully. 

Harry shifts beneath Ron, turning on his side so that he, too, can see Snape. "He won't," Harry says, and Ron knows Harry well enough to catch a tinge of disappointment in Harry's voice. 

"He will," Ron says firmly. 

"I most certainly will not--"

"It's because of his dad, right?" 

"I beg your pardon?" Snape climbs to his feet and brushes cobwebs and minute bits of glass from his robes, giving Ron a rather evil glare.

"You hate Harry, you always have. 'Cos he looks like his dad and you were in love with him," Ron says slowly, enunciating every word. "So Harry reminds you of him."

"You're treading on dangerous ground, Weasley," Snape says, his jaw trembling with barely contained rage.

"That's why you won't touch him." Ron honestly doesn't know if it was true or not, but it seems likely and he's tired of Snape and his attitude. He either needs to shut his gob or buck up and help Harry once and for all, no matter what kind of help he requires.

"Whelp," Snape snarls, climbing up on the cot and wedging himself behind Harry, pushing Harry and Ron to kneeling positions.

Ron scoots back, eyeing Harry, taking in how wide and unfocussed his eyes are, the way he squints trying to make things out without his glasses. Snape is behind him, glaring down at Harry almost as though he expects him to catch fire or something else unpleasant.

"Touch him," Ron orders. 

Snape's eyes dart up and his lip curls. 

"Do it."

Harry sighs and leans back against Snape, and Ron can see that he's still shivering a little. Snape tenses up and stares down at Harry; Ron has to leer at him to prompt him into action. Snape brings his hands round Harry's front and slides them over the thin cotton of Harry's t-shirt, stopping just above the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. 

Ron licks his lower lip, feeling a stirring in his groin. "Lower."

Lower still Snape's hand moves, almost defiantly. It stops and rests atop the thin muslin covering Harry's cock. The warmth of Snape's hand must feel good because Harry sighs and swivels his hips the tiniest of bits. 

" _More_ ," Ron breathes, placing a hand on himself in the same exact spot Snape's is on Harry. 

Snape sneers but says nothing, lifting his hand and then running a finger along the outline of Harry's cock. Down one side, across where the head lies, and up the other. Unsurprisingly, it springs to life and Harry bites down hard on his lip, whimpering. 

"Like that," Ron whispers, nodding and spreading his legs further apart, thrusting his hand in the flap of his pyjama bottoms and taking hold of his cock. Stroking his very eager flesh in the rhythm that drives him mad every time, he gasps, forcing himself to keep his eyes open and watch Snape do the very same thing to Harry.

He tries to concentrate on the feel of his hand on his cock and watching the flush in Harry's cheeks deepen as Snape pulls him off, but when Harry lets out a throaty moanwhimpersob, Ron cannot help but to crawl over to him and crush their lips together. His tongue invades Harry's mouth, running over gums and teeth and along the sides of his cheeks before finally flicking against Harry's tongue and ohfuckGod it's the most brilliant thing _ever_ and is that Snape's hand on his cock? Is that Snape's hand on his cock, pulling it tight against Harry's cock and fisting them together?

_God_. It _is_.

"So hard," Ron mumbles, thrusting his hips up mindlessly, nipping at Harry's lower lip. "Hard. Both of us. Are you hard, _sir_?"

Snape grunts in response and Ron smirks, figuring that's as close to a "yes" as he's going to get from the man. 

While getting pulled off the same time as Harry and feeling Harry's cock pulse and twitch up against his is brilliant, Ron thinks there is something even better that Harry might need, so he gets a hold of his senses and pushes Snape's hands away from the both of them. Harry mews in protest and Ron presses a quick kiss to his mouth in reassurance. "This is all for you," he says quietly, lips moving against Harry's as he speaks. Then he pulls back and slides off the bed, rolling the waistband of his pyjama bottoms over his hips, wiggling out of them. "Undress him," he says to Snape.

The springs of the mattress creak and groan while the two figures on the bed manoeuvre out of clothing. While they're busy doing that, Ron crouches down and looks through the contents of Snape's satchel, opening every compartment until he finds a small phial of a clear, jelly-like substance. "What's this?" he asks, straightening and showing the phial to Snape. 

"Salve. Aloe-based and harmless." On top of him, Harry arches his back and pushes his arse down, eliciting a moan from Snape. 

Ron grins. "Just the answer I was looking for." He climbs back up on the bed and runs a hand along Harry's jaw line. "Get down on your hands and knees for me, mate."

Harry nods, letting out a shaky breath as he complies. Ron runs a hand through his hair and leans over the top of him, handing the phial to Snape. "Prepare him."

Snape looks-- well, Ron isn't sure. Snape has an odd expression on his face, almost like he can't believe this is happening, like a child standing before a candy counter being told he can have whatever he wants and however much he can eat without getting in any sort of trouble for it. He nods, taking the phial from Ron and pulling out the stopper. Pouring some of the contents onto his palm, he allows Ron to take the glass and stopper back while he works the salve into his hands, rubbing it onto his fingers. 

Ron watches while Snape runs his fingers down the crease of Harry's arse, moaning and grabbing the base of his cock when he sees Snape's index finger disappear inside Harry's pink hole. Harry whimpers and pushes his hand back and Ron works his thumb across the head of his cock, spreading the tiny bit of pre-come about. He absolutely has to look away when two more of Snape's fingers work into Harry's pucker. Beneath him, the mattress rocks and shakes as Harry moves his arse back against Snape's hands, as Harry whinnies and begs for more, more, _more_.

" _Now_ ," Ron gasps, propelling himself forward. For a minute there is a lot of confusion while Ron sorts out bodies and positions until at last he's satisfied. Snape serves as the mattress on which Harry lays; his job is to hold Harry's legs up and apart at the knees so that Ron has room to do what needs to be done. Harry writhes atop Snape, hissing as Snape's cock rubs against the underside of his balls. Ron leans forward and whispers words of reassurance in Harry's ear and then he positions himself at Harry's entrance and _pushes_ forward, moving past the tight ring of muscle and into Harry's arse. Harry lets out a howl and his hands scrabble across the sheets, trembling.

Giving Harry a moment to relax around him, Ron lays his hands on Snape's hips below Harry's, pressing his fingers hard into his flesh, marking him. _Owning_ him. Snape hisses and Harry keens and then Ron fucking _moves_. 

It's awkward and hurts a bit and his knees keep bumping into Snape's legs and he can feel the head of Snape's cock against the underside of his own when he pushes into Harry and it's all so fucking _hot_. Ron feels like he's flying and then like he's diving in a mad tailspin and it doesn't matter and he can't hear himself think for all the moaning and skin slapping against skin and he hopes the signal never comes on that fucking coin so he can stay here with Harry and Snape and fuck them like this until the end of his days because it's so bloody _right_.

God, the throbbing in his cock becomes unbearable after a bit and there's a moan and a shudder and then _shite_ he's spurting-- his cock is spurting and it sets of some sort of great creamy chain reaction cos Harry's coming and then oh fuck so's Snape and Ron just slumps on top of Harry. After a few moments all of the spurting and the shaking stops and Ron feels all sweaty and sticky and sated.

And when Harry sighs and presses his face against Ron's neck and he feels a hand that he knows is too large to be Harry's curling around his neck - _Snape's_ \- Ron knows that at least one of them in that safe house was helped tonight. Hell, maybe they all helped each other.


End file.
